


Copperhead Road

by MetaBluee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, One Shot, i dont know what to tag :), i love steve earle, just a short one, set in about the 70's?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15585069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaBluee/pseuds/MetaBluee
Summary: Years later, they were out planting new seed, pretending to check on the crop. They’d made a small fortune, their produce going across America. Keith’s green bandanna was soaked with heavy sweat, and Shiro didn’t fare any better. But even underneath the hard sun, Shiro looked beautiful, and after all their time together, his heart still fluttered.





	Copperhead Road

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love this song, and I've listened to it countless time. I just really love Steve Earle lol. I know my writing can't do the song justice, but I hope if anyone reads this you enjoy, and please give this song a listen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvaEJzoaYZk

Keith was born on an old acreage; the land was leased out to a man who lived nearby, he grew tall, healthy crop; his mother cooked tough steak and his daddy worked on cars all day in their old, beaten garage. It was weathered, so much so as the family who owned it, but it provided a sense of quiet to them all. 

His mother liked to garden though, and she helped Keith develop that interest. Together they’d spend hours under the hot sun; it beat down on them endlessly. His mother would roll her eyes at Keith’s tough-it-out attitude, going inside to grab some of her famous fresh iced tea and one of her old, floppy sun hats.

It was her signature look; everyday she would wear her favourite jeans, a shade of blue blouse, and her trusty hat. She said it was to avoid getting heat stroke, Keith thought she just wanted to remain youthful.

His mamma was a pretty peaceful lady; she preferred the company of plants to people, saying they were easier to take care of, and much more talkative in their own subtle ways. Three years ago while his father was drafted and his mother was in the middle of baking some chewy chocolate chip cookies, she asked what he did that day. 

“Went to look at the general store up on main street,” he said as she added more butter. Always more butter, she’d say, to make it more chewy. 

“See anything you like? You got a birthday coming’ up, can’t believe how you’ve aged.”

“Saw a pistol today. It was beautiful ma,” she hummed, picking up the carton of eggs to put them away, and he hesitated, “could I have one when I’m older?”

When the carton hit the floor, Keith gasped, too. Keith didn’t understand why she blew up and started yelling about this and that, but she did. “But, why?” He asked when she went on and on about how good or bad her parenting was.

“A pistol is the devil’s right hand, baby.”

-

Kids from school would stay away from Keith; Keith Kogane the third, following his daddy and his daddy before. His dad was pretty well known and liked by the adults of the town, but they quietly shunned his grandaddy for his ‘bad behaviour’. 

While he wasn’t in town often, once or twice a year, if you were lucky, people knew him from his faded, filthy beard, and the peculiarities the man bought at the general store. He’d buy some copper line and a hundred pounds of yeast, throwing it into the back of his rusted-out pickup truck, where it would land with a heavy thump.

Keith liked his grandaddy. He was a quiet man; instead of talking while the engine rumbled, he preferred to let the old stereo play its music. That was another thing about his grandaddy; he liked everything, from bluegrass, to rock, soft rock, classical, and every so often jazz. Every so often he’d take a sip from an old jar, a small but knowing glint in his eyes.

Though he rarely saw his grandaddy, he appreciated the man greatly. 

“Grandaddy,” Keith asked one day, “what do you do with all the yeast and copper?” From the corner of his eye, where Keith was sat in the middle of the chevy truck, he saw his daddy give the man a warning glance. 

“I make something beautiful, kid,” the two men shared a chuckle, one that Keith didn’t understand, but smiled nevertheless at the hardened laughter. 

It wasn’t a couple days later ‘til it finally clicked, due to some old man shielding his own child from ‘moonshine’s family’. He asked his daddy when he got home, to get the truth, finally. 

His daddy said, “You must never tell anyone.”

“Is it illegal, daddy?”

“Yes, boy. Everyone might know he makes moonshine, but you ain’t tell anyone, okay? It could ruin a man’s life.” Keith only nodded.

-

One day, a year or so later, his grandaddy came to the door to bid his goodbyes. Said, “The revenue man wants me.” Keith knew it was serious, the government was a bitch to deal with; but usually paid little attention to its civilians. 

“Why do they want you, grandaddy?” Keith knew moonshine was illicit, but the man hadn’t been caught, he thought.

“Make sure you pay taxes when you’re older, kid,” and he laughed his loud laugh, Keith could smell the alcohol leaving his mouth. He gave them all a hug, and they wished him a good trip, to wherever the man was going. 

Keith was still young then, the ripe age of ten, but he remembered losing faith when his grandaddy never came back to visit that year, or any year after. “Where’d he go?” Keith asked.

“Probably up to Copperhead Road,” his dad replied, then they sat in quiet silence while his ma fixed supper. 

-

One day while Keith sat on the deck, older and more-filled out this time, his daddy came home, followed by a large tow-truck behind him. It hauled a big black truck, ‘Johnson County Sheriff lay painted on both sides, Keith noticed as they drove around the turn-around.

His ma came outside, wet rag in her hand, foaming from dish soap, and she sighed, “Your daddy is gonna get himself in trouble one of these days,” is all she said. Keith pondered that the rest of the day.

“It was a police car,” his father explains to him over dinner that night; mashed potatoes with the skin left in, and ma’s homemade meatloaf, “It’s a big block Dodge. That means its engine has a large displacement, “He continued on.

“What’s that mean?”

“Means more torgue. Means more power.” His mother asked about her meatloaf then, and when his father pretended to make a disgusted face, she told him he could “eat dog food, then”. They all shared a chuckle at that.

-

His dad skipped breakfast the next day, instead opting to meet with his brother to work on the truck; in reality, they sat and had a couple darts for an hour or so. Keith watched them from across the yard, from his comfortable spot by the window in the dining area. 

“You should go see what the commotion is,” his mother said, “bring them some tea.”

If there is one thing Keith learned, it’s that men loved tea. Iced tea; tea where you boil water and throw some bags or herbs in, then sweeten with sugar. That’s it. Men would go crazy over a good iced tea on a hot summer day, himself included. 

So he carried to full glasses of tea across the yard, only once tripping lightly and spilling some of that sweet amber liquid, of which the men accepted happily. 

He sat and watched from the sidelines as they popped the hood and tried to get her running, his dad murmured ‘I didn’t know it was this bad’ every so often as he inspected this part or that part. His uncle just laughed from where he was beside Keith’s dad. 

So they went to work, and over the months the truck was covered in an ugly primer, in a poor attempt to stop the rust, and parts were being rebuilt or bought new. Keith remembered the first day the thing started in god knows how long; the rumble of the beast was so powerful, it made shivers go down his spine. 

-

Not too long after the vehicle was working, his mother grew worried one night. She said she had a bad feeling, that something wasn’t right, and she proved her good sense when the sheriff knocked on the door.

When she opened up and saw the sad expression on his face, she knew immediately. 

See, Keith knew his father ran whiskey up copperhead road. He was old enough know, they trusted him to know the family trade. Tonight though, the trip down to Knoxville with the weekly load took much longer than usual, and their was the smell of whiskey in the air from way down yonder.

He stayed up all night, comforting his mother and mourning his father.

-

When Keith was eighteen he volunteered for the army. He felt a little lost, thought that the army would help him out. His family was poor, his ma and him, so he knew they’d draft him first. Poor lives don’t matter when it comes to life or death. 

He met Takashi Shirogane there, the person who saved him once or twice. The first time, he saved Keith from discharge. A man can only be called ‘white trash’ so many times before he explodes.

Keith had been minding his business, shining his boots, to hear snickers ‘round him. When he looked up people hid their faces with amused smirks, all except one. James. Keith had grown infuriated, lost his temper and grabbed the man’s collar only to threaten him with all his might. 

It was Shiro who watched from the other side of the room, decided to take action and split them up; much to everyone’s disapproving glares and James’ stupid smirk turning into a roll-of-the-eyes kind of ideal. 

Shiro had introduced himself with a firm handshake, “Hi, I’m Takashi Shirogane, you can call me Shiro.” The rest was history. 

\- 

The first time Keith sucked him off was when they were in communal showers and no one else was around. He remembered the sounds the man made like music notes in his favourite songs, and that friendship grew to something more when, Shiro, though in his blissed out state, pulled Keith up by the hair to tell him he loved him. 

When they were deployed, they were deployed together. And together they stayed, miraculously, for two tours of duty in Vietnam. Shiro became him boonierat buddy after a year, and he called him that in the likes of other men, who picked up the nickname too. 

Even though it was one of the worst things he’d experienced, being over that, he knew him and Shiro had a future together; and he had a plan, similar to the family traditions the went so far back in Keith’s own.

-

When he told Shiro, the man gaped at him; eyes wide and in disbelief, but nevertheless, bless his heart, the man had agreed. So they headed up to Columbia, headed up to New Mexico, in a Dodge not unlike his father's. The seed he took were in wheat bags, so the cops would be a little less suspicious. 

The entire ride back Shiro had been nervous, nervous about the cops finding out, nervous about the uncertainty of their future. Keith just laughed, reached over to kiss his cheek, and told him to just be quiet, listen to the Eagles. Shiro did just that. 

It turns out, his love of gardening came in handy. On the farm he lived on growing up, his ma now old and upstairs all the time, he planted weed seeds in between the rows of corn and wheat that had been leased out. 

“Five percent,” Keith had said, explaining the business to the man leasing their land, “You’ll get five percent.”

“Make it seven and I’ll keep it a secret. Eight percent and I’ll keep your little boyfriend a secret, too.” They shaked hands that evening, Shiro acting as a witness.

-

They had to harvest the crop at nighttime, the D.E.A’s got choppers flying over fields and the like in the hopes to bust some criminals. Shiro joked that they were gonna get them, and Keith always replied that at the very least, they’d go down together; partners in crime. The smile and blush he got always made his heart melt. 

After his mother passed away, and the small ceremony was finished, was the first time it happened. The house, that had been handed down to Keith, had a nice deck to spend lazy sunday afternoons on, or any afternoon, really.

Shiro would pull his hat down over his face to make it dark outside, the crickets buzzed in rhythm of his breathing, and he’d fall into a peaceful nap while Keith pulled weeds. 

A damned chopper was flying overhead, loud and relentless against the noise of anything, really, and he noticed Shiro shaking and trembling quietly as he slept. Keith just watched; nightmares weren’t uncommon with the history they had, all scarred up mentally and physically. Shiro was worse off than him though, he kissed those scars each time he could. 

The man worked up a slight sweat, but seemed to be shaking a little less, and so Keith went back to pulling weeds. That was, until Shiro woke up when the chopper flew right overhead, screaming, shaking, sweating with a flush and it broke Keith’s heart. 

For the rest of the afternoon he held Shiro, who told Keith he thought he was back over there, and cried wet spots into Keith’s white wife beater shirt. 

-

Years later, they were out planting new seed, pretending to check on the crop. They’d made a small fortune, their produce going across America. Keith’s green bandanna was soaked with heavy sweat, and Shiro didn’t fare any better. But even underneath the hard sun, Shiro looked beautiful, and after all their time together, his heart still fluttered. 

He wished they could go in public together and hold hands, little as they go into public and leave the farm, but regardless, Keith found his slice of heaven on the farm. And as another chopper flew overhead, he knew they’d be okay.


End file.
